


and i don't even know you yet

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Edelthea Secret Valentines Exchange, F/F, Operas, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: When the music starts, something changes. The girl’s eyes close for but a second before they’re popping open again, now bright with life. She opens her mouth to sing—And as she does, Edelgard’s breath catches in her throat. Her opera glasses fall away, leaving her to only watch the girl, a dazzling light on stage, from afar, for her voice is the most wondrous thing Edelgard has ever heard.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64
Collections: 2020 Edelthea Secret Valentines Exchange





	and i don't even know you yet

**Author's Note:**

> written for refreshmints's edelthea secret valentines exchange -- happy valentine's day, julia/NezumiShutsujin! i was originally going to fill one of your other prompts, but ultimately couldn't get myself going on them (though i might follow up on my concept for another later), so i settled for "edelgard watching dorothea performing at the opera for the first time"!
> 
> the first sections here are shortly pre-canon (the second is a year before canon at most), the last is post-canon. disclaimer: i know next to nothing about opera, but the first one dorothea stars in is loosely based on agnes sorel, or at least what information i could find about it -- and the titular woman -- online.
> 
> title is from "all i've ever known" from _hadestown_. enjoy!

The first time Edelgard sees the Mittelfrank Opera Company perform, it is with Lord Arundel at her side.

It is not a significant occasion for her. She is happy to spend time with her uncle as well as behold the illustrious songstress Manuela Casagranda in person, but Edelgard has never been musically-inclined save for status-befitting lessons enjoyed since early childhood.

So she is somewhat restless as she sits in their private box high above the stage, fidgeting with anything she can get her hands on while her uncle partakes in a glass of wine.

“We shall only be here around two-and-a-half hours,” he assures her. To the young Edelgard, that sounds like an eternity, but if she is to be the emperor someday, she must learn how to be patient and put up with things she isn’t looking forward to—or at least that is how she rationalizes it.

She slouches as much as she can get away with, hands folded in her lap, preparing for a boring show at best.

But when the music begins playing and Manuela Casagranda takes the stage, Edelgard pays a lot more attention.

She leans forward in her seat. The opera glasses her uncle had provided her with press closer to her face almost on instinct as she peers down at the singers swaying on stage. Even without the dramatic lighting, they would seem to shine. Edelgard is rapt for the entire performance, her awestruck silence over the intermissions seeming to take her uncle by surprise. When the curtains close, she is on her feet and applauding before her uncle can even remind her.

Upon leaving, Edelgard cannot quite restrain herself from telling her uncle at length how much she liked the performance, how _incredible_ the woman singing was, how _fantastic_ all of the costumes and songs were. This child-like wonder will soon be lost (far sooner than, in a just world, it should). But she does not know this yet, and so she is able to chatter on as they walk toward their carriage.

“I am glad to hear that you had a fine time,” her uncle tells her, and the night is too dark to see the edge of his smile, nervous and sinister all at once. He places a steadying hand on her shoulder. “That particular opera will be performed every night over the next several weeks. Perhaps we could attend again.”

Edelgard agrees, a spring in her step.

In the end, they don’t follow through on that promise.

♪

When she returns to Enbarr years later, she’s not able to see the opera again. Manuela Casagranda has retired, she’s told, and though a new songstress has taken her place, Edelgard’s memories of the opera are so foggy that she cannot recall much more than one of the tunes Manuela had sung and her general sense of enjoyment. She can’t remember if she’d attended anything beforehand, either. Her memory is too muddled to feel anything but vague disappointment that she can’t behold Manuela’s singing again.

She’s sure that, at one point, she had loved the opera. But it’s been a long time since then. So she avoids the company and its newest songstress as long as she can—until Hubert is handing her the tickets to a new opera being put on this weekend.

His invitation is just short of an order. With Edelgard preparing to take the throne after her passage through the Garreg Mach Monastery Officers Academy, he reasons, her reputation is more crucial than ever. Supporting the long-standing Mittelfrank Opera Company would tip the public opinion scale in her favor. And besides, he adds upon her lukewarm reaction, it would be nice to unwind, wouldn’t it?

This makes her agree. The knowledge that the Empire will soon be in her hands is exhilarating and terrifying all at once, a weight on her shoulders as heavy as the crown she’ll someday wear. Getting rid of that for a single night—well, Edelgard can’t say that would be bad.

And it’s only her and Hubert in the reserved box of the Imperial family. (Though House Aegir has their own, the view from which Ferdinand will likely boast of when she next sees him.) While she’s comfortable enough dealing with people—as is her effective her job description—sometimes that too gets tiring. It’s nice, she must admit, to spend time as close to alone as she can get. She has a chance to gather her thoughts rather than becoming overwhelmed before a crowd. A quiet setting might be better for that sort of thing, but the auditory stimulation isn’t as bad as it could be.

The thoughts at the back of Edelgard’s mind nag her for not doing something more important with her time, but it’s not as though she can’t multitask. Indeed, as she settles in to watch the curtain rise, she’s thinking of what events she’ll have to attend in the next several weeks and whom she should make an effort to speak with.

An ordinary enough introductory sequence plays out. Edelgard listens with halfhearted interest, sitting upright and attentive although no one save Hubert can see her, opera glasses propped up. She follows the opening of the story as best she can with the other half of her mind focused on her plans for the near future. As she watches the actors flit about, her thoughts are occupied with those of how to tread carefully around one of the small-means counts who thinks he’s far higher-ranking than he is and uses his power for the oppression rather than good of the people; she mustn’t let him know how she feels about him quite yet, so perhaps it would be best to avoid him altogether at a territorial meeting in two weeks—

And then all of the productive thoughts on Edelgard’s mind are scattered to ash when a girl steps onto stage.

A feeling of déjà vu stings her as she tilts her head forward. The girl appears to be around Edelgard’s age, but there is a very clear dividing line between them: For one, Edelgard is certain that this girl isn’t of noble birth. She is very used to dealing with nobles, and the way this girl carries herself is far removed from the mannerisms of those Edelgard is most familiar with. The girl is beautiful, that is certain, with long silky dark hair and smooth skin that shines under the chandeliers. Her eyes are wide and fearful as she takes in the crowd.

When the music—melodious and calming yet energetic—starts, something changes. The girl’s eyes close for but a second before they’re popping open again, now bright with life. She opens her mouth to sing—

And as she does, Edelgard’s breath catches in her throat. Her opera glasses fall away, leaving her to only watch the girl, a dazzling light on stage, from afar, for—

For her voice is the most wondrous thing Edelgard has ever heard. Its sheer natural beauty reminds her almost of a bird—a warbler perched outside her window, singing to a choir with a voice more fascinating than any preacher’s sermon. She sings in a different pitch than Manuela had, Edelgard thinks, but the register only adds to its charm. As Edelgard numbly lifts her opera glasses once more, she can see that the other actors are as entranced as the entire crowd seems to be, a hush enveloping the room except for the sphere of the stage where the girl stands.

Edelgard has never put much stock in saints, and now she cares for such tales even less, but she almost wants to compare the girl to any number of divine figures. As soon as the thought crosses her mind, though, Edelgard nixes it. Though Edelgard doesn’t know the girl, she presumes she’s no goddess, and she deserves to be compared to something more concrete than the Church’s high and mighty fairytales. Or, better yet, nothing at all. She must only be a human with a lovely voice.

Though that loveliness is buffeted by inexperience. There is something unrefined to her voice; while Edelgard’s distorted memories don’t allow her to adequately contrast her and Manuela’s voice besides the pitches, the girl’s youth shines through, rough compared to her pressure-formed diamond of a senior.

The imperfection intrigues Edelgard all the more. She finds herself wanting to know more about the girl—what she’s like when she’s not playing a part; if she is wearing a metaphorical mask like Edelgard’s.

Edelgard is snapped from her reverie by Hubert leaning over to murmur, perhaps seeing something in her face, “Something wrong, Lady Edelgard?”

Noticing her shoulders have slipped down in relaxation, she straightens. “Nothing at all,” she whispers back. It’s the sheer opposite, though the thought of admitting even that much to Hubert embarrasses her enough to bite down on her tongue.

He takes her at her word and scoots back toward the shadows. Edelgard’s attention, now somewhat dashed by the warmth in her cheeks, returns to the stage, where the girl pauses for breath before carrying on, harmonizing with her fellow singers and carrying on the story.

Or at least Edelgard assumes so. Half an hour later, the curtain falls only for her to realize that so mesmerized had she been that she’d missed the rest of the plot of the first act, and she scours the provided pamphlet during the intermission. Hubert looks over like he wants to ask after her mental state again, but to Edelgard’s relief, he says nothing.

She gets the gist of it enough to pay more attention during the second act. Edelgard had skipped past the cast notes in the program, but it seems the girl is playing a young lady-in-waiting who becomes the mistress of a fictional king. Not the most original subject matter, but there is a certain nostalgic spirit to it.

Story aside, Edelgard’s gaze lands naturally on the girl whenever she’s on stage, ears following her voice. Her wonders of the girl’s life—and she cringes at her inordinate curiosity—pop up again with each note she sings. As the night grows longer, she thinks she can see more of the facade chip away as the girl’s makeup, too, is worn away with sweat.

When the curtain falls for the final time at the end of the third act and the performers step out to bow a final time—the lead songstress in the center of the crowd—Edelgard stands and claps so hard her palms ache through her gloves. Indeed, the theater roars with such enthusiasm when the girl bows that pain pulses behind her eyelids. She can’t bring herself to grimace—it’s what the songstress deserves. The girl herself seems flustered by the attention, bowing stiffly several more times before Hubert takes Edelgard’s arm to guide her out.

As they’re stepping back through the empty halls (Hubert had picked a good time to leave), Edelgard finds herself still thinking of the girl. She would have full reign to go backstage, but coming so close so soon is an unnerving thought. What would Edelgard even talk about? How much she had enjoyed the performance? Goddess forbid, how beautiful she thought the girl was and how she wished to, what, be her friend? Know more about her? And all with Hubert at her side?

No, Edelgard couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing, at least not until she’d seen several more performances. She would have to bring roses or something equally deserving of the girl’s beauty as well.

As such, Edelgard slows beside Hubert enough times for him to get the hint, and he slows down so they can speak in undertones. Were there any passersby, they would look like they were plotting something dastardly, Edelgard is certain. It’s something she wouldn’t want anyone overhearing, sure, but nothing so untoward.

“Who was that singing?” is all she asks, voice faint. “The lead songstress, that is. I forgot to check for her name in the program.”

Hubert gives her a curious look but makes no mention of the fervor in her eyes. “I believe it was the company’s latest addition, Miss Dorothea Arnault. If I recall correctly, she was born a commoner, and Manuela Casagranda, the previous songstress—” to this, Edelgard nods “—took notice of her talents and took her under her wing before her retirement. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I simply… wondered.” Edelgard twists her hands at her waist for a moment longer before trying her best to clear any further hint of interest from her face. “It’s rare that the company gains such a prolific member, is it not?”

“Indeed,” says Hubert, nodding. He doesn’t press her any further, only leading the way out of the opera house before the rest of the crowd spills out, much to Edelgard’s gratitude—she doesn’t think she can explain herself.

The name _Dorothea Arnault_ stays at the back of her mind. She manages to attend two more performances of the opera (though she still never brings herself to go backstage, only on her last visit leaving a bouquet outside the girl’s door and fleeing) before it closes.

(And then, well, her time at Garreg Mach approaches, and she finds herself growing closer with Dorothea Arnault than she ever could have expected.)

♪

After the war, Dorothea returns to the Mittelfrank Opera Company to take the stage once more, and Edelgard is there with her every step of the way. Her responsibilities as emperor require them to spend far more time apart than Edelgard would be satisfied with, but every night she’s able to, she makes for the opera house with Hubert and anyone else she can fit into her private box in tow.

Each opera Dorothea performs, she performs with her whole heart, whether she’s playing the starring role (as is most common) or a secondary character. The operas she’s written and composed herself require even more work. But each one is sung from the soul, and each resonates with Edelgard as much as—if not more than, now that she knows Dorothea in the way she’d hoped to back then—the first performance she’d seen all those years ago.

That feeling only intensifies when Dorothea puts together an opera about… her. It’s mixed with slight embarrassment, but as she sits in wait for the maiden performance to begin, all that fills Edelgard is pride and admiration. The curtains rise, and her heart swells with the music.

At first, she’d fought the concept of an opera based upon her and her companions’ journey, but Edelgard had given up before long. There was simply no point in stopping Dorothea when her mind was so set on something. And once that very opera plays out before her eyes, Edelgard can’t imagine herself ever being in opposition. Dorothea’s libretto (which she’d proofread before even Bernadetta) is, in a word, fantastic; a work of art penned straight from the heart. Each word on the page had left Edelgard breathless, and hearing it performed even more so.

As promised, the central role of Princess and then Emperor Edelgard had not gone to Dorothea—though she hasn’t appeared yet, Dorothea is starring as herself. (“You’ll be the main character, of course, Edie,” she’d said, “but that doesn’t mean there can’t be nine protagonists, right? The rest of the Black Eagle Strike force, including our dear professor. Your narrators, as it were.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Edelgard had assured her, taking Dorothea’s hands in hers. “You are all absolutely integral to my story—and my life. I wouldn’t _allow_ you to tell my story without all of you in it.”

Dorothea had beamed, kissed Edelgard’s cheek, and presented her the first draft the very next week.)

Perhaps what leaves Edelgard the most awestruck, then, is the care Dorothea has poured into her libretto. Edelgard wouldn’t trust anyone else to tell their story but those who had lived it. Dorothea knows all of them well enough that, while it’s not like the intimate details of their lives are being played out on stage, there is still heart-wrenching reality among the artistic liberties. It makes Edelgard feel as if she is reliving those very moments. There are some she wouldn’t wish to experience again (that terrifying instant when the professor had looked at her and then, to Edelgard’s surprise more than anyone’s, joined her side, as well as her and Dorothea’s first conversation after the unmasking of the Flame Emperor, come to mind), but all the same, the bittersweet nostalgia overtakes her within minutes.

And then Dorothea takes the stage, and Edelgard takes a breath.

Dorothea’s singing never fails to entrance her. Of course, now her voice isn’t the only nor even primary aspect of Dorothea she adores—but it is a part of her all the same, and given Dorothea’s apprehension about it fading away someday, they’ve both elected to enjoy it for as long as it lasts. Life is like that, Edelgard supposes: One can worry as much as they’d like, but all things must go in the end.

The first act covers their time at Garreg Mach, so the spotlight shifts from the young Edelgard (an odd thing, to see someone playing her younger self) to the others. Dorothea plays her part perfectly—interest and suspicion reign in equal measure as she sings of Edelgard’s aloofness and ambitions. Some of the things she’d confessed had been the first to draw her to Edelgard. Their relationship isn’t quite new, but they’re not yet public about it, so the phrasing is ambiguous that no one will read too much into it, but it brings a smile to Edelgard’s face anyway.

Then Dorothea steps to the side to give Edelgard’s actress the center of the stage back. Through her opera glasses, Edelgard can see Dorothea’s furtive glance in the direction of the emperor’s box. A small grin, threading the line between Dorothea the character and Dorothea the woman, crosses her lips before she returns her attention to the Edelgard on stage.

In her box, Edelgard closes her eyes and listens.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


End file.
